


Incandescence

by Reckoning1187



Category: Far Cry 4
Genre: Angst, Bows & Arrows, Burns, Captured, Eventual Fluff, Fire, Graphic Violence, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Kukri, No Spoilers, One Shot, Outposts (Far Cry 4), Rescue, Serious Injuries, Tension, hostage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29028291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reckoning1187/pseuds/Reckoning1187
Summary: This is a little one-shot I've been slowly but surely working on for a while. I finally wrapped it up today and thought I would share.Please enjoy! Comments are encouraged and help them writing process along!*A kukri is a curved knife or dagger commonly used as a multi-functional hunting tool. It is the main blade Ajay uses in Far Cry 4.
Relationships: Ajay Ghale & Sabal, Ajay Ghale/Sabal
Kudos: 8





	Incandescence

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little one-shot I've been slowly but surely working on for a while. I finally wrapped it up today and thought I would share.
> 
> Please enjoy! Comments are encouraged and help them writing process along!
> 
> *A kukri is a curved knife or dagger commonly used as a multi-functional hunting tool. It is the main blade Ajay uses in Far Cry 4.

Ajay hid in the low brush by the outpost, keeping close to the trees for cover. He could pick out at least two snipers patrolling the roofs of the outpost. Several more men walked the perimeter of the cluster of houses. He crept forward as the sniper nearest to him turned his back. He silently crept to the back of the building, peering inside. He gripped his kukri tightly in his hand at the sight of four bound hostages kneeling on the floor, two Royal Army soldiers standing over them, guns at the ready. He forced himself to turn his back on them — first the alarm. He pulled out his bow, traversing to the side of the house where he could see a few men talking in rapid Hindi. He marked and counted their steps, waiting until they were out of sight before taking aim on the sniper on the opposite roof. The man fell with barely a cry, a barely audible thud on the metal roofing. He leaned out from his hiding space, taking careful aim at the yellow electricity box that controlled the alarm system. It bent and split in two beyond recognition with a loud crack that alerted a few of the guards nearby. Next went a guard wandering on his own. The pair he saw earlier went down simultaneously, a kukri in the back and a muffled bullet to the head. After checking the perimeter again he returned to the house with the hostages. Luckily the soldiers inside were too busy taunting their captives to notice any of the commotion outside. 

He moved quickly. Leaping through the open window of the house, his feet set quietly on the wooden floorboards. Several flashes and the guards were bleeding out of the ground, throwing-knives protruding from their throats. Ajay stepped over their bodies, untethering the hoods that covered the captives’ heads and pulling them off. 

“I’m gonna get you out of here, just hold tight.” He came behind the men, moving to untie their hands. The first knot slipped loose in his hand almost too easily. He moved to the next hostage. Ajay blinked when he saw the man’s hands already unbound. He turned, seeing the other three men staring at him; all of their hands were free. He made the mistake of showing his back to the one behind him, and the man tackled him to the floor. 

“Fuck!” Ajay cussed, trying to buck the man off of him. The ‘hostage’ was significantly heavier than him and kept his position steadily while pinning Ajay’s arms behind his back. The man leaned down so his mouth was over Ajay’s ear, speaking in a hoarse voice. 

“You’ll pay for all of my lost brothers, Ajay Ghale, by Kyra I swear it. I’ll give your regards to Pagan Min.”

“Who the fuck are you?” He had a feeling that he already knew. Ajay tried to wriggle out from under the man, but froze when the barrel of a handgun was placed to his forehead. He looked up at the other three men, a shiver of panic running down his spine as they pulled out several AKs and scorpions from nearby crates. They sneered at him, taking out bulletproof vests and strapping them on. Ajay frowned at the Royal Army insignia printed across the breast of them. 

The man pinning him down tied his hands together tightly behind his back, kicking him in the side hard. Ajay could’ve sworn he heard something crack, and the blinding pain that shot through his ribs was a good enough indicator by itself. He then pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. Ajay stumbled at the sudden movement and was thrown into a nearby chair. A shock of fear jolted through him. The other men were busying themselves with closing and bolting all of the windows and possible exits to the house. Another brought out a can of gasoline and started sloshing the liquid over the floor. The same one who pinned him down stood in front of him, flicking open a lighter and igniting his cigarette. Ajay felt his wrists and ankles being bound to the chair tightly, but he didn’t dare move with the gun’s cold barrel still pressed to his temple. They took his guns and kukri, setting them on the empty crates. He choked as a gag was forced into his mouth almost far enough back that he couldn’t breathe, a rancid and metallic taste coating his tongue. His eyes watered from the fumes of the combined smoke and gasoline in the room. 

“You will know what it means to suffer,” he said, blowing a fresh wave of smoke into Ajay’s face, “and I will send Pagan Min your charred corpse.” He spat at Ajay’s feet and gestured to the other men around the room to follow him. As soon as the gun left his temple he was trying to wriggle out of his restraints. The man from before said something in his native tongue: “Alavida Ghale.” The door was slammed and the room went dark except for the smoldering embers of the man’s discarded cigarette catching on the gasoline-soaked floorboards. It burst into flames, smoke and fumes quickly starting their attack on Ajay’s lungs. He coughed, jerking his hands against the posts of the chair and rough ropes that bound him. 

Shit. Shit! 

The flames surged against the walls of the room, avoiding him for the most part, but he didn’t want to see how long it would stay that way. He took a deep breath and pulled upwards against the ropes, trying to slip his wrists free. The ropes didn’t budge and his wrists became wet with what he assumed was his blood. He barely felt his skin tearing through the adrenaline that coursed through his body. He let out his breath, forced to inhale the smoke-polluted air. He ducked his head as low as he could searching after cleaner oxygen, but went into a fit of coughing as he found none. 

. . .

“Sabal!” Said man was ripped out of his maps by the urgency in his comrade’s voice. The man ran up to the Golden Path leader, dipping his head respectfully but hurriedly as he stepped into the room. 

“What is it?” he asked, setting down the schematics that Longinus had delivered to him from one of Ajay’s freed bell towers. The man’s face was contorted with urgency and concern. 

“There’s a fire- the outpost — it’s burning to the ground!” Sabal froze.

“That’s near where Ajay is—” He didn’t bother to finish his sentence. He was on his feet and rushing past the Golden Path soldier before you could say ‘Shangri-La.’ He jumped into one of the ATVs that was parked outside the strategy room. He briefly noted that a few other Golden Path members were clambering into their pickups before he sped off. It was a fair ways to the Textiles.

He arrived some ten minutes later, too long in his opinion, skidding to a stop ahead of the other vehicles. He had cut through the wilderness for the most part, outrunning the Golden Path that had decided to come with him. They all loved Ajay, but none of them could match the sense of protection and concern for the son of Mohan Ghale like Sabal could. 

Hence here he was, just outside of the burning partial-circle of buildings. Smoke made his eyes tear up and the heat could be felt from even twenty paces away. Sabal looked over the buildings, searching for a trace or sign that Ajay had been there. He saw the blue tape of Ajay’s ATV first, similar to his own vehicle. It was parked farther away in the brush. Other than that there was no sign of life except a few fleeing animals. Sabal registered the skidding tires of the rest of the Golden Path arriving, but he paid them no mind as he ran into the circle of flaming buildings. A few people followed after him, shouting and covering their mouths and noses from the smoke with their jackets. The men did a quick check around the site, coming up with nothing. 

“Ajay!” Sabal shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to make the sound carry farther. Ajay couldn’t have just left without reporting anything, could he? If he did, why leave his ATV there? “Ajay!” he called again, listening to the echo of his own voice. 

That’s when he heard it. 

A muffled cry of “Sabal” almost drowned out by the crackling fire around him. He exchanged glances with the Golden Path members nearest him; their wide eyes told him that they had heard it too — it wasn’t just his imagination.

“Ajay?! Where are you?” he called out, listening to the silence that followed. To his right he heard the man’s voice again. He ran towards the building, stopping just shy of the flaming wood of the walls. “Ajay?”

“Yeah.” Sabal would’ve been relieved if he hadn’t heard hoarse coughing after that simple word. 

“Hang on. We’re going to get you out.” A quiet chuckle could be heard from inside the house. 

“That would-” Coughing. “-be preferable.” He said it with dry humor. 

Sabal went around the sides of the house, noting the places the fire hadn’t reached yet. One of such places was a side door. The handle and the wooden plank covering the doorway were still whole, if a little blackened. He touched them briefly, waiting for the heat to sting his skin. None came. He wrapped his hands around the handle, trying to pry the door open; it didn’t budge.  
. . .

“Fuck!” Sabal cussed, loud enough that Ajay could hear it. Ajay let out a low laugh that ended up turning into a harsh cough; nothing about the situation was funny, it was just that he’d never seen — heard, he corrected — Sabal so frustrated in a long time. Not since that man had fallen from the bell tower and Ajay had walked in on his operation if he remembered correctly. He never would have guessed that he would be the cause of the frustration the next time either—

A sharp thud broke his train of thought. He craned his neck as far as it would go to see the sealed up door behind him. Another thud and one of the hinges creaked and split off of its mounting. Through his burning eyes, Ajay could see the blue-clad shoulder of Sabal ram into the wood again through the open gap. The wood creaked under the stress. 

“Talk to me Ajay,” Sabal called, his shoulder ramming into the wood again. “Do not fall asleep.” Another bang of his shoulder in the door. A tiny waft of fresh air stole its way to him and he inhaled as deeply as his swollen, burning throat would allow before the smoke overwhelmed him again. His head pounded as his body forced him into another string of coughs, ripping apart his throat. 

“Easier said than done,” he croaked out, “but I’ll do my best.” Ajay took in a shallow breath. “Is it just me, or is it hot in here?” A small laugh from outside, though he could hear the stress in it. He continued on with little puns and jokes, occasionally earning a chuckle from Sabal. 

“How do you make a cat bark?”

“How?” came the grunted reply. Another thud against the door.

“Drench it in gasoline and light it; woof!”

That one earned a good laugh from the Golden Path leader.

“You brought America’s humor I see.”

His vision darkened considerably all of a sudden; he tried to blink away the temptation to just close his eyes and sleep. A part of him knew that he probably wouldn’t wake up again. The initial panic from when he had first been trapped in the room had faded, his mind going into a numb haze and the sounds of Sabal trying to break into the house started to dissolve. 

Was this how he was going to die…? Alone?

. . .

Another slam into the shutter, another hinge gone and Sabal’s shoulder had started to scream at him. He stopped for a moment, listening. There were no quips or coughs from inside the house. 

Fuck.

He slammed his shoulder into the door. Once. Twice. It broke down, falling across the floor with a bang. He pushed inside, his arm across his nose and mouth to keep the billowing smoke away. He squinted through the burning sensation in his eyes and into the dim room. 

Ajay’s figure was bound to a chair in the center of the house, his back to Sabal. His frame was slouched and unmoving.

“Ajay!” Sabal rushed forward, forgetting to shield his lungs from the smoke. He coughed as he knelt beside the man, his fingers hovering over the bindings securing him to the chair. The flesh visible underneath was bloody and red, purple where bruises had started to set in. The ropes were coarse and biting into his skin, allowing almost no movement whatsoever. Two Golden Path soldiers joined him in the room, and Sabal could almost feel their worry over the sight in front of them. 

Sabal spotted Ajay’s kukri and other arms on a crate a few meters away and snatched up the blade, passing it to one of the soldiers. The woman placed the razor-sharp edge against the ropes, careful to start cutting on the space closest to the wood so she didn’t accidentally hurt Ajay further.

“Ajay. Ajay? Can you hear me?” Sabal touched the man’s shoulders gently. He could hear the slow wheezing breaths and see the slow rise and fall of his chest — he was still breathing for now, but they needed to get him away from the fire and smoke. 

The bindings securing Ajay’s wrists fell away and he slumped forward limply. Sabal caught him, hooking Ajay’s chin over his shoulder and looping the man’s arms around his shoulders to support his weight. From there one of the Golden Path soldiers helped get the man onto his back. He was surprised that Ajay wasn’t heavier, but dismissed it as there were more important things to think about at the moment.

They made their way out of the burning house. The Golden Path members that drove to the burning outpost with him had rushed to start putting out the fires. A few remained behind to help Sabal lay Ajay in the back of a pickup truck. 

The ride back to Banapur was tantalizing. Sabal kept his eyes on Ajay the entire ride, his hands constantly feeling for a pulse and his heart stopping every time his breathing would hitch. 

. . .

Ajay woke feeling blissfully numb and a little too calm considering he had just been in a burning building. Drugs, he figured. Sunlight streamed gently onto him from somewhere, warming him. He cracked his eyes open, finding it rather difficult to keep his eyelids from falling again. He glanced around the room slowly, taking in the soft red, brown and gold hues of the house in Banapur Sabal had leant to him. One of the windows was open, hence the warmth from the sun streaming across his legs. He sat up slowly, his limbs heavy and pins-and-needles spiking up his nerves. A weight made itself known, preventing him from moving one of his legs. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, peering down at his limb. Sabal laid there, his head and arms resting on his thigh. Dark circles outlined his eyes. In his hands he clasped the prayer beads that were normally wrapped around his wrist. Ajay’s body acted on its own. His fingers — surprisingly steady — brushed through the man’s long hair gently. A smile came to his face as his fingers came back slightly sooty. 

He had never been alone, had he?


End file.
